The Game of Life
by The Lady Baven
Summary: So first I'm kidnapped by some British idiots, then I'm stuffed in a cell with a cheeky Asian brat, and then an eerily familiar kid with an eye patch is thrown in with us.  I'm still wondering if the candy was worth being caught up in this Game.


**READ BEFORE YOU GO BACK, yeah I saw you**

**OC Stories: Yes, I know everyone hates them (well I rather like them when done well) but I wanted the challenge of making a good "OC goes to Black Butler world" as there aren't many good ones… Well, if you read the chapter, you'd see that she didn't exactly "fall" or "go" to the world. But enough for now, I'll get major points at the end.**

**Rated T: mild violence and not so mild language (you've been warned)**

...

_Game: Set._

…

Dull light filtered through my closed eyelids and I uttered an involuntary groan in response. My head exploded in pain that I realized had been a dull throbbing previously, as if aggravated by the loss of the cool dark. My first thought was that I had suffered a severe migraine, as those were two symptoms, but the stiff and bruised feeling of my body made me dismiss that thought.

I then, of course, remembered what happened. I had ironically enough had been walking in town alone for the first time. Before I always had been in the presence of friends or family, but I was convinced that I could handle a quick trip alone for some sugary goodness to ward off a lack-of-caffeine-and-sugar headache.

I proudly admit I've never been a petite girl and, as my dad was a boxer, was not brought up to be soft. So, both my parents acquiesced to my sudden want for independence rather easily. I was sixteen for goodness sake, and I felt my teenage rebellion was too long in coming. Although, I admit, mine had a very sad start.

As I was walking back from my favorite small convenience store nestled between a small overall too pink boutique and slightly larger bookstore, I noticed two shadows following me; or rather, two hefty men arguing with British accents. Not that I have anything against foreigners, their accent even sounded more sophisticated than my American one, but their gruff undertones and heavy walking set off the paranoia radar I shared with my mom.

I sped up slightly, using the reach of my long legs to my advantage, and jolted not-so-subtly when I saw out o the corner of my eye the two men do the same. My left arm laden with my grocery bag, I slid my non-dominant hand into my red sport shorts pocket to finger my cell phone.

For the next few minutes I continuously changed the pace of my walk and grew increasingly alarmed as the strange men matched it. My grip tightened on the plastic bag that held my sweets when my knuckles clenched and a rush of adrenaline ran through me; the same rush I felt when I faced my father or one of his protégés in his gym's boxing ring. Perhaps it was the adrenaline that made me do my next action, or maybe it was the raven that suddenly alighted in front of me on the creamy sidewalk. Since being forced to read Edgar Allen Poe's _The Raven _in seventh grade, I developed an irrational aversion (as I wouldn't call it a fear) of ravens or crows. When I saw the carrion bird's unnatural red eyes and lack of fear, my mind was made.

I stuffed my grocery bag in the pocket of my dad's dark gray hoodie, which I was admittedly swimming in, and turned on my heel, silently cursing my choice to wear flip flops. I opened my lips and demanded, "What do you guys want? It's illegal for creepy old men to stalk girls you know."

I held a steady stance, letting them know I could scrap if they tried anything, and I gave as hard and fearless look as I could muster. They, one brunette and one blond and both equally monstrous in size, looked baffled and surprised at my actions. I assumed they hadn't expected me to notice them, which either meant they were dumb or expected me to be that oblivious. They better hope it was the first (though I angrily acknowledged it was probably a combination).

We stood in the same places for a couple moments and just as I grew impatient the blond gasped, "she must be stupid, 'ey mate?"

The brunette nodded solemnly, "Them whores are only gettin' stupider."

Well, needless to say, _that _pissed me off, but in the back of my mind, which truthfully was more intelligent than what my first reactions are, I wondered how the hell I came off as a whore. Well, my sports shorts are admittedly not basketball shorts, but not improper by any means. And, not to mention, my _dad's _sweatshirt would hide any and all curves I may –or may not- possess.

But, as always, anger won out and I seethed, "What did you call me you moronic bastards?"

I'm happy to say that my quick wit and stunning intelligence left them speechless in awe, but they couldn't seem to be able to hold their…_strong _emotions back and charged at me in _elation_. I, being the humble person I am, couldn't accept such earnest…_praise _and took one look at the eerily still raven before me and booked it across the carless street.

Seriously, where were people when you actually need them? Even an old person to call the police on their granny phone would be helpful.

…Oh! Police, 911, right; that's a stellar and revolutionary idea!

Now dashing down the opposite sidewalk with two sets of thundering footsteps behind me, I fumbled my phone out of my pocket, hands shaking with adrenaline, and tried to dial 911. A shot rang through the air, which I faintly recognized from the cop shows I'd watch with my mom, and before I registered what happened, a flurry of curses flew through my lips.

The bullet didn't really hit much of my hand to be honest, as it nearly nailed my phone, but it was enough to make me bleed and to give me an unwelcomed shock. Knowing that not pumping my arms would lessen my momentum and I could really not afford that at the moment, I merely clenched my right fist tightly instead of gripping it with my other hand like I wanted to. I could feel the grocery bag bouncing against my stomach, which certainly didn't help the angry birds (as these were no butterflies) that seemed to have taken up residents there.

In a flurry of anger and indignation I shouted, "J-jealousy is an ugly thing my friends." Actually they're not my friends, but no need to hurt feelings. Actually, there was _no _need to hurt bodies either, so the assholes would have deserved it. But, alas, I'm just that nice.

And my voice seemed to have momentarily committed mutiny and shut down.

Another bang whirled through the air, though it didn't hit me, and I distantly noted that it must have been a warning shot since the one before was so accurate, unless the previous had been a fluke. But, those types of things weren't to be thought of when being shot at by adoring stalker fans. I gave a slightly hysterical "heh" of laughter under my breath at my quickly deteriorating in intelligence thoughts and chastised myself to stay calm.

I was so caught up I barely turned the corner into a side street to refrain from running smack into a dumpster. Strange symbols painted (something made me thing "painted" instead of "graffiti" as I usually would) on the brick caught the corner of my eye, but I dismissed them before I had barely even registered them and made a mad dash down the small side road.

In all honesty, it was more alley than road, but I had seen enough movies to know what happened to young girls that went down alleys, and decided it was a "pygmy street" instead. Continuing that thought, I _was _about a quarter black, and the black ones _always _die.

No, no, no. Running is good, running fast is great. Thinking is bad, rabid stalkers are worse.

With that mantra running through my head, I thoughtlessly dashed down what I noted in dismay seemed to be a maze of al- pygmy streets, picking which attaching ones to run down on instinct. The buildings seemed to deteriorate the further I went as old brick and wood replaced cement, metal, and glass. I was _sure _I'd never seen a part of the city like this, and didn't think I was that close to the ghetto. Though, due to its dirty state, it seemed like the most plausible answer. Still, my inner eye for detail seemed to alert me something was wrong with the trash, of all things, but, frankly, that wasn't important at the moment.

I ran for a ridiculously long time, and even as in shape as I was, my legs eventually gave out from under me. I gasped desperately for breath, unable to think due to my lack of oxygen, and had to put my head between my knees to still my swimming head and rapidly beating heart. In a couple minutes (_2 minutes 38 seconds _my inner clock informed) I collected enough of my wits to freeze up from the remembrance of my immediate danger, but it took another minute for me to gather they were nowhere to be found.

I swiveled my gaze suspiciously around the deserted alley – damn, pygmy street! – and eventually gave a sigh of relief. I stood up shakily, arm balanced on the wooden door I collapsed in front of, as my adrenaline seeped slowly out of me. It was hard for me to believe I had really lost them but it made sense; I had run down so many _roads _that I probably couldn't find my way back…

"Shit."

Okay, okay; I had absolutely no clue how to get back. Maybe my feet could've left prints on the dirty ground? Yes, yes, maybe…but what if the men are still trying to find me? Should I ask someone for help? I quickly slapped down the naïve part of my mind. I may not look rich, at all, but I'm sure I looked better off than the people that lived in this part of town. (This was part of _my _town?)

I looked back suspiciously at the door my left arm was still leaning on. My stomach grumbled and I suddenly remembered why I had gone out in the first place. A gluttonous smile (that was _not _trembling) etched upon my lips and I figured; why not snack on my well earned chocolate to put my buzzing brain at rest first.

As soon as I had lifted the palm of my hand up, fingertips about to push off, the door burst in and I fell without its support. Rough and big hands grabbed me and I let out a strangled noise. I honestly don't remember much after that besides trying to fight the men (I saw a blond and brunette head, though I have no clue how the _hell _they could've been in there) off and eventually being hit on the head with something and everything going back.

Now, I'm here –wherever that is— and I just realized I'm staring at an Asian boy with an obnoxiously huge smile. He was worse than the light, seriously.

"Haha, you finally realized you're staring at me old lady! How indecent of you," he grinned even wider. Also being part Asian, I would usually call him a kindred spirit, but his ridiculously squinted eyes seemed terribly stereotypical. Could he even see? Even being this close to him, I could just barely see the glimmer of his golden brown eyes. He seemed to be a couple years younger than me, maybe thirteen or so, was pale (probably Chinese or Japanese) and close cropped black hair.

I sat up suddenly, regretting it when my head swam, and was inwardly grateful that the boy had quick enough reflexes to jump back in order for us to avoid bumping heads. Yeah, not my smartest move. I clenched my head between my hands and moaned.

The boy was still grinning not a foot in front of me, "You have a rather large bump on your head lady. Sitting up that quickly must have killed. How stupid of you!"

I growled and peered at him through one of my dark eyes, "Shut up brat! And stop calling me lady; makes me sound old."

The boy seemed to have a revelation and his eyes opened slightly wider, but went back just as quick. I couldn't make out his eye color anymore. "Kuku, calling me a brat makes you sound old you know."

I grunted, opened my other eye, and took in my surroundings instead of responding. I was in a rectangular room made of gray cement. The width was probably about the same as three of me laid out (Me being 5' 8" and ¾) and two of me lengthwise. There was a wooden door that was on the wall I had my back to and on the wall I was facing there was a fairly large window about –I stood up— two feet above me that the light that had woke me up shone through.

"Taking in our love room?" the pale boy asked pleasantly with his hands clasped.

"It's like a jail cell," I deadpanned, "And what a weird thing to say! Aren't you like thirteen?"

"Fourteen," he corrected airily, "And if I'm stuck in here, I suppose I have no use but to accept you, old hag."

I stared at him darkly and put a hand on top of his head; he was a head shorter than me, "I won't accept such a shrimp."

For the first time in the, admittedly, short time I knew him, I saw his young face slightly tighten in irritation. He then danced out of my grasp, backing up, and pulled out something he had been holding behind his back with a larger grin, "its fine, even with such a rude personality, you came with a good dowry."

I stared at him blankly before becoming angry, "Why do you have my bag?"

"Such strange candy and wrappers, but I shall eat them happily, my Amazon!" the boy grinned, apparently happy with my reaction, and waved a chocolate bar he had pulled out of my grocery bag in front of him tauntingly.

Honestly, what a weird boy. Was everyone like this here? Although, remembering my captors' British accent, the boy in front of me in a light green traditional Chinese (or Japanese) robe seemed out of place. What the hell was going on?

But, to hold back a tide of anxiety, I played along and gave into my anger for the moment. "Oh no you don't shrimp!"

I tackled the boy to the ground and wrestled for my bag of candy, not very worried since all my sugary treats were most likely already squished, and the boy deserved it. He put up a pleasantly good fight for all his disadvantages, but I had height, weight, and overall strength over him so I was really just playing around at this point.

Suddenly the door opened and a man, that was not one of my captors, stood there holding something. When I focused on what he held in front of him by one hand I saw it was (another) young boy. He was just as pale was the one I currently held in a head lock, possibly even more pale (though it wasn't sickly so much as like porcelain) but had English features rather than Asian. I immediately noted his huge sapphire eye and was slightly startled to see the other one covered by an eyepatch. His hair was, impossibly really, a strange mix of gray-blue. I immediately counted it as dyed, but that seemed wrong too. He wore strange old English looking blue clothes, though I couldn't say from which era since I was never good at history. Though, come to think of it, the now slightly blue in the face annoying Asian boy wore old style clothes too.

But, the weirdest thing of all was that I think I recognized him. His bored, slightly scowling (and bruised, I noted) face completely inappropriate for this situation and all.

"Hmph," the tall well built man spoke, "this is quite fitting for you little guy," he sneered causing the boy's scowl to grow slightly, "The Queen's Guard Dog will be put in the pound with the little Chinese Crested and a Mutt."

Oh-Ho, how clever of you big beefy guy.

Luckily, and uncharacteristically, I managed to keep my mouth shut at the jab to my mixed ethnicity. I was a quarter black, a quarter Japanese, half Spanish, and _proud_! Who the hell wants to be pale and get sunburned anyway? I have a very nice dark complexion, and…and…

…Hehe, isn't the Chinese Crested the ugliest dog in the world?

The man gave a laugh and threw the boy in. He landed a foot in front of us and didn't seem particularly inclined to sit up. The man said something about talking later, but me and Chinese (as I now knew) boy's attentions were on the crumbled form of blue.

The fourteen year old suddenly wiggled out from under me and sprung up happily. "Why hello, what's your name? I am Ju-long the powerful*."

Hey, why didn't he ask my name?

I was tempted to point out as a "guard dog" (or whatever) he might bite so be careful, but the boy's glare, though not directed at me, was enough to shut me up as he sat himself up. He seemed about to answer with a snarl of some sort or a "don't talk to me heathen" but then took a closer look at Ju-long and seemed to reconsider.

The blue boy drew himself up in a regal manner that was almost ridiculous for someone who was younger than me and answered in a grave voice, "I am Ciel Phantomhive."

And for some reason, this struck me more than anything else had so far, and I had to ask myself, was the candy really worth it?

A raven flapped from a tree that stood just outside the window of the cell that housed three unknowing players in a game. Its red eyes flashed and it seemed to grin:

"_Let the game begin_!"

…..

***Ju-long means powerful or gigantic**

**Congratulations on surviving the hell that is the main character's head! How brave :)**

**I'm not sure whether I'm going to model this story off of the manga (which I prefer) or the anime (which is complete) but I have a chapter or two to decide…**

**OCs: My main OC (She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named), really, is a bit of an idiot :) but the more I write her, the more I find she's a rather complicated character, and a confusing one. I tried to mix up races to make her more culturally diverse and, while we may have similar aspects, it's a relief to say we're not very alike at all. Hm, can anyone guess who Ju-long might be? He was mostly added to give Ciel and his "Amazon" a little more hell. **

**Romance: Okay, quite frankly, Kuro is not a romance anime/manga. So, that will not be the focus (who would look for romance in that kind of situation?) If people would like romance with a canon character or another OC I suppose that will come in, but it'll not be the main theme. I have to say though; I am a fan of Undertaker.**

**Next Chapter: **

_**Black hair, rust red eyes, and that smile, he's…he's…**_


End file.
